The harbor was humid and hot in this mysterious land, nothing like the frosty cold ports of home. Yellow smoke danced to the beat of the drum joined by hypnotic women. The crowd spiraled inward, dancing to far away bells and the murmur beneath the ground.
You awoke sweat clad in linen sheets, the naked woman passed a long pipe. The cherry sparked red like a dragons eye. Head leaned back against a soft pillow, body free falling from soothed skies. A thud as your body hit the ground on a pathway built by giants.
Chanting, ritual drumming and spoken word weave in and out of this album that pays tribute to the old ways.
Simon Heath, Frank Merten, Henry Emich